If Only I Could Stay
by ChemicallyEnhanced
Summary: AU. Kamijou Hiroki wakes up in a new body every time he dies, and he's gotten tired of leaving someone close to him behind. When fate gives him Kusama Nowaki, what is he to do? HIATUS
1. Blood and Tears and Death

Disclaimer: I don't own Junjou Romantica because it'd be too much like a Korean drama if I did. NOTE: this is the disclaimer for all chapters.

So this is my very first attempt at writing Hiroki x Nowaki. And a multi-chapter fic at that. Have fun reading.

* * *

Hiroki's hands trembled as he re-armed his rifle, bullets clinking smoothly into the barrel. It was late 1945, in the midst of World War II, and he'd been forced to travel to the Japanese island of Okinawa to fight against the American threat. Curse their "island-hopping" or whatever the English term was. Hiroki—contrary to what other people believed—wasn't as good at English as he hoped to be, even after all his...200-odd years of life. English was so troublesome at times…

He leapt up as an explosion sounded near him, remaining bullets dropping down to the sand as he moved further away from open ground, into the forest where hopefully he wouldn't be caught by any American troops. This was turning out to be a bloody battle; one of the worst in the Pacific since the war had begun. Hiroki could count at least twenty men he knew that had already fallen, bloody wounds gaping or the ugly red liquid dripping out of bullet holes lodged in chests or foreheads. Hundreds more he didn't know as well had also fallen. Say what he could about them; those Americans had pretty accurate aim.

His close friend from the barracks, Aoki Takamura, sidled up next to him, shooting down an American hiding unsuccessfully in the bushes at the same time. "Oi, Kamijou. How you holding up?" He was covered in dirt and sweat and blood—not his own, Hiroki hoped—but those twinkling eyes still held that sense of adventure, of mischief that had drawn Hiroki to him in the first place. He wasn't attracted to Aoki by any means—war didn't give a man much time for relationships and he kept his sexuality a secret—but the marksman was a loyal friend and could really help a guy whenever he was in trouble.

Hiroki scoffed as he and Aoki traversed the forest together, the cries and shouts of their fellow troops growing fainter as they left the beaches. "I've got a bleeding shoulder and I'm almost out of bullets. How do you _think_ I'm doing?"

Aoki looked faintly wounded even if Hiroki knew it was just an act. "I show concern for my closest friend and this is what I get in return? For shame. Weren't you raised with manners?"

"Don't need them when it comes to _you_ ," Hiroki countered back.

"Ah! I'm wounded, Kamijou," Aoki aimed a crooked smile at his friend.

Hiroki was about to answer back when he heard the sound of twigs cracking somewhere in front of them. Eyes narrowed, he waved Aoki to stop and scanned the greenery ahead, not really catching anything out of the ordinary except for the sounds of birds chirping overhead. Stupid birds. Why were they still here?

Aoki had understood Hiroki's warning and slowly, carefully released the safety on his rifle, cocking it. Releasing a long breath, he raised his gun just slightly and Hiroki followed suit, his brown eyes darting back and forth along the brush to see for any enemies. There really was no telling where they would come from. In a second, a small force of American soldiers had exploded out of the green and opened fire. Hiroki ducked out of the way immediately and shot one of them to the ground, not knowing whether or not Aoki was still alive or not; there was no time for that right now.

Setting the release back on his gun, Hiroki let loose on another shot, catching one of the troops in the leg this time and making him fall to the ground with a loud yell. He swiped some sweat away from his forehead and reloaded his rifle in ten seconds, in the same moment that he pitched one of his knives into an enemy's chest, off-center but enough to make him fall. His eyes widened in slight panic as he realized that the sounds of their fighting must have reached the ears of more Americans, as their shouts and boots stomping against the forest floor came closer. Hiroki shot another soldier in the shoulder right as he heard a pained cry that sounded all too familiar.

As if he were in slow motion, Hiroki turned to see Aoki on the ground, clutching at his chest as blood dripped from a wound there, his face distorted in a grimace. His mind shutting down and his chest growing heavy, Hiroki ran over to his friend and knelt beside him, knowing that he wouldn't be able to ward off the remaining Americans anyways and knowing that he was going to die, right here. Aoki only managed to burble out some word that Hiroki couldn't even understand at this point before the light went out of his eyes and he was dead.

All of this had happened in the span of a few seconds, and as more American soldiers burst through the trees, guns ready and pointed straight at Hiroki, he surrendered. The feeling of being shot and dying wasn't such a novelty anymore now that he had felt it so many times before.

As Hiroki laid there, blood seeping out of his body in several places and those bloody American troops rushing past him, not even hesitating after they'd killed a man without so much as the blink of an eye, the light above him growing brighter and brighter until everything was aglow, he thought he could see the face of someone he once knew, high up in the sky where he couldn't reach him.

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A/N: The actual plot will start in the next chapter; this just a prologue

-ChemicallyEnhanced


	2. When I Met You

The first thing that Hiroki felt as he gained consciousness somewhere was the settling of his…soul in his new body. It wasn't the most pleasant experience, as his throat tightened painfully when he rushed into his body, like he had just slammed into something hard. With his soul came the memories. The way this whole thing worked was his soul would be the same for all of his bodies, but the memories wouldn't come until half a second later, and there were _many_ memories, centuries worth. They all filled his brain in an instant, leaving him with a pounding skull and his head hurting. Blurred faces, places, names—they all flashed behind his eyes before calming again, taking their places inside the recesses of his brain. It was always so tiring feeling the weight of these memories on him; whenever this happened, he felt he had aged a century—mentally, of course, but his new physical body was yet to be discovered.

It took only a moment for the body's heart to start pumping blood to the rest of the body—or him now, for that matter, this was _his_ body—for his organs to begin functioning and brain activity to begin racing. Slowly, feeling coming back to his fingers and toes, Hiroki experimentally lifted his eyelids, grimacing inwardly at the way they pulled stickily at his skin. For a second, he couldn't see anything, just the brightest of lights; then his eyes adjusted and through blurry vision he could see where he had ended up.

It was a small room with sickly blue sterile walls and ceiling, a closed door in the corner, and an open window next to his head that let the morning sunlight in. There was a steady beeping next to him, and Hiroki turned his head to see some kind of machine with a lot of numbers that he didn't understand and a red line on a black screen that went up and down as he breathed. It was obvious that he wasn't in his own time period anymore, possibly several decades into the future from when he had left off; Hiroki wasn't too sure as he'd started thrashing on the bed when he realized he and the machine were connected.

The red line on the black screen started beeping erratically, making him panic even more. "Help, there's a bomb about to go off in here!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, ripping whatever was on his arm off and sliding off—the bed.

A man rushed through the door, his blue eyes widening as he took in Hiroki's wild appearance. The strange man with the white lab coat— _was he going to experiment on me?_ —walked towards Hiroki calmly, his hands up in a placating gesture. "Sir, could you please calm down and—"

"Where am I?! Who are you?!" Hiroki demanded, glaring at this… _brat_ who thought he could tell him what to do.

The other man only smiled gently, lowering his hands. "You're in the hospital, and I am Nowaki Kusama. It's very nice to meet you…?"

Hiroki's frown deepened. Why should he tell this strange person anything? He tched, turning away from Kusama towards the window. Outside, Hiroki could see he was on the ground floor of…a hospital, the other had said, cars that weren't clunky and rattling zooming by and people ambling along, laughing and talking with each other. Definitely long after the war, then.

"Where am I?" Hiroki muttered to himself.

"A hospital, like I said," Kusama answered, sounding confused.

Hiroki turned back ground. "I already knew that!" He snapped, irritated and feeling more than a bit stupid. "I meant—what day is it today?"

"March 27, 2013," was Kusama's reply, but Hiroki had already stumbled, grabbing onto the bedframe to keep himself from fainting.

He had gone forward over _70 years_ …how was this possible? Even though he shouldn't have been so alarmed—he _had_ lived rather long, anyways—he still couldn't keep himself from doubling over in surprise. _70 years_. How much has he missed?

Kusama stepped forward, meaning to place his hands on Hiroki's arms to relax him, but Hiroki only jerked back into the wall, arms out. "Don't touch me!"

"Ah…" Kusama's eyes inexplicably softened. _What the hell?_ "I don't mean you any harm. It just would be better if you rested; after all, you've been in the hospital for a few weeks.

Hiroki choked on his suddenly too-dry throat. _A few weeks….?_

Is that how long it took for his soul to find his body? It normally only took a few hours for the transfer to happen; though, with the 70 years gap, it shouldn't have been so surprising.

He barely even noticed Kusama gently leading him back over to the bed and laying him back down, so shocked was he to find out his soul had been drifting for _weeks_ … In all the time he'd been like this, he'd had this…"condition", it had never taken this long for his soul and body to become one. It baffled him immensely; he'd have to look more into it when he got more settled into his new body. Speaking of…

Hiroki started when he realized he was sitting back on the bed now, covers pulled back onto his lap and the machines beeping steadily again.

"…sir?" He heard Kusama ask gently.

Folding his arms—and knowing full well that he looked childish—Hiroki scoffed. "What?"

That damned smile. "I was just wondering what your name was, for documentation purposes. I need it for the records, and nobody around here seems to know who you are."

Hiroki opened his mouth to protest angrily when…something strange happened. Kusama's ever-soft blue eyes narrowed for a moment, and a pulse of heat raced through Hiroki's body at the sight. He couldn't help but answer. "Hiroki Kamijou." _Damn, what just happened? Tch, I'm not stupid. I know exactly what happened. Curse this brat's blue eyes and tall frame and—okay, just stop with that line of thinking. Because it's false. No, it isn't. Stop confusing me, brain!_

Kusama's eyes lightened up again, a bright smile gracing his handsome features. _Wait, what?_ "It's very nice to meet you, Hiro-san!"

"Don't call me that…" Hiroki grumbled, and he had to lower his head to hide the sudden heat he felt on his face. Nobody had _ever_ called him "Hiro-san" before. It was always "Kamijou" or "Hiroki" or even in some cases "The Devil"—though that was very rarely and only in his more testy bodies—never some soppy nickname like _Hiro-san_. But Hiroki found that he didn't quite mind it that much.

 _Fuck, I'm getting soft already._

"Hiro-san, I'll check up on you later since you seem to be in stable condition right now. But if you have any problems, don't hesitate to call a nurse," Kusama said.

Hiroki only grumbled again in reply, leaning back against the bedframe. A thought occurred to him. "Ah!"

Kusama was at his side in an instant. "What is it? Does something hurt?"

"No," Hiroki said, suddenly a bit embarrassed. "Just—I need a reflective surface."

"You mean a mirror?"

"…sure." Most reflective surfaces Hiroki knew were more silver platters or the sides of guns, but a mirror would work just fine.

Bringing out a small hand mirror, Kusama held it out him, his confused expression wondering what the man was doing. This had always been a tradition that Hiroki did whenever he was born into a new body; he wanted to see what it looked like right when he woke up just out of a simple curiosity. Hiroki held the mirror up to his face and…well, he didn't look too terrible. He had a heart-shaped face and brown eyes and hair and altogether wasn't too ugly.

"Hiro-san?" Kusama was still standing there, hovering. _And no, I'm not wondering if he thinks I look okay. Or good. Or handsome. Or anything! Stop thinking that, brain!_

Hiroki thrust the mirror back at him, pointedly looking away and expecting the other man to leave. What he did not expect, however, was for Kusama to warmly run his fingers through Hiroki's hair, tugging at it like he couldn't let go. _What…what is he doing? And why does it feel so…nice?_

"I'll be back later, Hiro-san," Kusama said, though it was said too gently like he actually _cared_ about Hiroki and what would happen to him. He left the room in another second.

For a moment, Hiroki only lay there, wondering about nothing and everything at the same time. His hand unconsciously came up to touch his own hair, and—he noticed with a deep flush and a not-altogether unpleasant thud of his heart—he could still feel the warm fingers of Nowaki Kusama long after he was gone.

* * *

"Hiro-san?" Nowaki called quietly as he stepped into the room, wondering if he would get to talk to his fiery patient again.

In all his 24 years of life, Nowaki had never really thought about love, choosing more to focus on his efforts to give back to the orphanage that had so graciously taken him in and later in life, to focus more on becoming a pediatrician. As an intern here at the local hospital, he was making some pretty good progress—probably. He didn't exactly know yet. Anyways, he never really had the _time_ to think about relationships or settling down or finding _the one_ like he used to hear about when he was a little kid.

Really, it was rather cliché that there would be _that one person_ Nowaki would meet and fall in love with immediately, out of all the other people in the world he could have been with.

Well…he couldn't exactly call it love just yet, but that warm feeling he got in his chest when he saw Hiro-san sleeping and curled up on his side, light snores escaping through his lips was something that seemed pretty close to what Nowaki considered love. Maybe. He wouldn't know, since he'd never actually _been_ in love…

Nowaki silently walked over to the side of the bed and stared. Just stared. It might have seemed creepy to anyone else, but to him…he was silently documenting every little detail of Hiro-san's lovely, well…everything. He felt a sudden rush of affection as he noticed Hiro-san face look so vulnerable, so…unlike what his expression usually was and how he usually acted. Well, Nowaki hadn't known him for very long, literally only a day, but he felt as if he'd known Hiro-san forever, and that small fact only made him yearn for the man sleeping in the too-small hospital bed.

He sighed softly, holding his breath as Hiro-san shifted in his sleep and mumbling something about "pineapples" before settling again. Nowaki breathed out a quiet laugh, wondering how after so short of a time period, he could be so caught up in this one person already.

Glancing towards the door to make sure nobody was looking, Nowaki bent down and placed the lightest of kisses on the smooth skin of Hiro-san's forehead, running his fingers through Hiro-san's silky brown locks. The heat that Nowaki could feel emanating from Hiro-san's forehead made him smile, and he closed his eyes in contentment. He could've spent the longest time near Hiro-san's warmth, but Nowaki forced himself to stand upright and move out of the room, looking back one last time with a gaze that Hiro-san would later describe as full of love.

* * *

 _Bombs and explosions and the overwhelming sense of_ death _were everywhere; Hiroki could literally taste it on his tongue. Fellow soldiers died left and right. The air was filled with the sounds of pain and weapons striking human flesh. Hiroki winced as a spray of blood hit him in the face from the untimely death of a nearby comrade; he reloaded his gun and managed to shoot two enemies before it was brutally kicked out of his hands and he was knocked to the ground._

 _The boots of the enemy came to a stop in front of him, and he hissed in pain as that boot crushed his hand, breaking the fragile bones there. His head was jerked up by the hair, and Hiroki was forced to meet the hard, cruel eyes of the American standing above him._

" _Well, hello there," he said, his lips twisting up into a wicked grin._

 _Hiroki didn't answer, too preoccupied with another sight that had taken his attention—a limp Aoki was being dragged by his arm to the side of the battle, the American holding him leering at the sharp knife in his hand._

 _The American looked to where Hiroki was staring intensely. "Oh? Do you know him? Perhaps you'd better watch the show, then."_

Please don't… _Hiroki thought to himself, panic rising in his throat._ Please don't make me watch him die again.

 _And all Hiroki could do was scream his name as Aoki's head was cut off, blood dripping down the sides of his severed neck._

Hiroki came to screaming _Aoki_ as well, his hands clawing at his face in his panic to rid the remnants of his nightmare, but they wouldn't go away. He didn't know where he was, he didn't even know who he was at this moment, he just wanted to _stop_ seeing Aoki die like that, in that terrible way that Hiroki always feared he would die from. A door burst open and someone rushed up to him, calling out his name. Hiroki couldn't even answer; his hands had reached up to grasp the side of his head, wanting to tear that sight out of his mind, out of his thoughts. He could vaguely feel the warmth of someone embracing him, rocking him back and forth soothingly.

Slowly, his heart stopped racing and he calmed down, though he could still only tremble in terror. Those warm arms loosened around him just slightly, but Hiroki buried his face into them, whimpering and shutting his eyes tightly. He could only wish it was who he thought it was, but right now he couldn't hope for anything, not even sleep to come back.

"Shh…" The voice said lowly, gently patting the back of his head. "It's okay, Hiro-san. I'm here. It's okay." In a moment of sudden weakness, Hiroki heard the pain in the voice comforting him and wanted to take that pain away so he wouldn't have to hear it ever again. "You'll be okay, Hiro-san. I would… _never_ let anyone hurt you like that."

Letting out a choked sob, Hiroki allowed himself to cry for his old friend, for the horrible fate that Aoki had been put through. He cried until the tears had dried up on his face and the warmth of the arms around him had lulled him back to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

-ChemicallyEnhanced


End file.
